


Nine Rings of Vos - Arc One: Oppression

by Sanjuno



Series: Nine Rings of Vos: The Epic Seeker Saga [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Culture, Author Has A Lot Of Feelings About Imperialism, Cultural Fetishization, Culture Clashes, De-cybertronian-ization, Dehumanization, Dystopian Government Practices, F/F, F/M, Fight the Power, For Fun and Profit, For Survival, Government funded widespread kidnapping, Isolation, M/M, Multi, Other, Seekers can Identify their mates in many ways, Seekers find their wingmates by instinct, Sentients being treated badly, Slavery, Sorry Not Sorry, Soulmates, Systemic Prejudice, Torture, Trinemates are Soulmates, Undermining the Established World Order, Unlawful Imprisionment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2018-12-10 15:59:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11695056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanjuno/pseuds/Sanjuno
Summary: The prejudice against War Builds is endemic and widespread, the Prime is nothing but a figurehead used to advance the Senate’s agenda, and the Energy Mines are producing less and less energon with every vorn that passes. The Cybertronian Government is corrupt and stagnant, and the slave trade only grows more overt as time passes.The Seekers pray for a sign.It is into this reality that some very special sparks are kindled.





	1. In Fair Vos, Where We Set Our Scene...

**Author's Note:**

> It has been two years since I last updated this fic in any way, shape or form. Yet the power of the fandom compels me, because apparently that isn't _nearly_ long enough for people to stop asking when Nine Rings was getting posted to Ao3.
> 
> Well, my old friends, the time is now.
> 
> Also this pilot drabble for this story was a wee bit of crack that exploded like a shaken soda can. Messily and getting on everything. Also-also it _did not stay crack_. This story touches on some very dark themes and explores the kind of pre-war society that might have produced the Decepticons as we know them. So hang on, watch out, and remember to take a break when it gets to be too much for you.
> 
> This sucker is _ridiculously long_ and anyone who can get through the whole thing in one sitting once I've finished uploading it has my admiration, because _that_ is what I'd call stamina!

=/=

**(In which the Government is more than slightly cruel.)**  
  
Glitterblind perched on the edge of her seat, watching Ravishwing out of the corner of her optic. Although still a fledgling, just like Glitterblind herself was, Ravishwing already had a _reputation_ among the younglings and fledglings of the Flight Academy. Rumour had it that he had a reputation _outside_ of the Flight Academy as well, that he went among the newly adult students of the War Academy when they came home on leave. Although no one came right out and said it, Ravishwing’s unique Sigma ability, reportedly capable of overloading a mech in a click without even touching them, made his attention highly sought after. And not just by the incomplete or un-trined. Not a few mechs were hoping that Ravishwing would come a-courting them for trine.

Glitterblind already knew one of her trinemates. He was an unusually staid, patient Grigale with the designation Battalion. Battalion was a few vorns older than she, and had already graduated from the Flight Academy, though he had been her basic firearms tutor for a time. That he had stuck with it for as long as he did, he did not stop her sessions with him until he graduated, had proven to Glitterblind how wonderfully understanding Battalion was. Glitterblind could not hit a Supreme with a ranged weapon unless she stood underneath it and dropped a grenade. Glitterblind was _atrocious_ with ranged weaponry. Her instructors were already working on a specialized program for when she went to the War Academy.   
  
Glitterblind therefore saw no reason to join her age mates in their endless, silly games of are-you-not-you.   
  
Then of course, all of her half-formed plans had been disrupted when they began classes to train their Sigma abilities. Their sparks were finally strong to support sustained practice without stabilization issues. The starry-opticked look that followed Ravishwing around like a bumblepuppy had appeared again as if on cue when he walked into the first class for projective-emotive talents. Only this time, _Ravishwing_ was the one wearing it.  
  
Yes, Glitterblind could admit to herself that she felt drawn to him, but how much of that was trine instinct and how much was the result of Ravishwing’s un-honed Sigma talent? That beautiful, desired-by-all Ravishwing could be meant for _Glitterblind_ , she with her odd, twisted syntax and the linked glitch that left her unable to outright lie, it could only prove that Primus had a very _strange_ sense of humour.  
  
“This is a nice place.” Ravishwing spoke up, breaking the tense silence as he leaned back on his hands. He held his wings in a relaxed pose as he looked around at the hanging garden with curious optics. “These look like Praxian crystals. Is that what they are?”  
  
“So I believe, that I do.” Glitterblind tilted her head just enough to see Ravishwing fully, feeling her doubled wings lift and spread at the provocative display Ravishwing was putting on. “By one who much admired the Crystal Gardens of Praxus they were built, so I was told. Their beauty did he admire so, that home to Vos the gardens beauty he wished to bring. So he did, but with aesthetics that Seekers please in mind did he build.”  
  
“Explains why our gardens go up instead of out.” Ravishwing said simply, looking up at the sparkling cascades of crystals that spilled down the terraces of the Vos garden. Silver-blue streams of mercury twined and fell amongst the glowing, multi-coloured crystals, providing gentle ambient noise. Ravishwing shot a sly (but oddly shy, how did he manage that combination? Glitterblind wondered) glance at Glitterblind. “This place suits you.”  
  
“Pardon?” Glitterblind asked with a startled blink of her optics.  
  
“Your paint sparkles enough normally that it’s hard for me to pay attention to anything else but how much I wanna smudge it. Here though…” Gently daring, Ravishwing traced a dark magenta claw over a glittering white wing. “Here you’re absolutely stunning. You belong here, surrounded by peace and beauty.”  
  
“Oh.” It was the first time their metal had touched, and it was enough for Glitterblind’s own empathic Sigma gift to filter out the effects of Ravishwing’s talent. He _was_ her trinemate, she was certain now, and from the determined gleam in his optics, so was he. Still, just because they were meant to be did not mean that she had to make things _easy_ for him. Glitterblind shifted, slowly drawing her wings out of Ravishwing’s reach with a flirtatious flutter of sensors, enjoying the slide of his claws on her derma plating.   
  
“Forward you are.” She murmured, coy and coaxing. “All talk, I hear. But actions, none do I see, indeed.”  
  
“Well then, my bright lady.” Ravishwing leaned forward, optics burning with a flattering amount of genuine romantic fervour. “What must I _do_ to please you?”  
  
“Hmm. A riddle, that is. Unable to solve it are you?” Glitterblind smiled invitingly as Ravishwing laughed in delight and made to answer her challenge.  
  
She never heard his response.  
  
The gardens around her, the other Seeker beside her, they disappeared under a dark wave of cold emotion.   
  
* _terror/pain/anger/panic/lost/alone/gone! tearing/ripping/separated/broken! screaming! no/no/no/screaming/hurting!_ *  
  
The Seekers were screaming. _Vos_ was screaming. The windbond carried their pain, their screams. She had to make it stop!  
  
“Glitterblind! Wait, where are you going? What’s wrong?” The fledgling Contrastes did not hear the calls of her future trinemate, she was not even aware of him following as she raced silently through the too-quiet, too-still city. She stopped suddenly atop a tower, hidden in the decorative architecture designed carefully with that very purpose in mind, and looked down. Dread filled her at the sight of a scene that haunted every Seeker’s night terrors.  
  
“That’s a government transport!” Ravishwing hissed in disgust beside her. “What are they doing here?”  
  
_*”Silent, we must be. Use wingspeak, we must. The full cant, for this moment too loud is.”*_ Glitterblind looked at Ravishwing who looked back with grim determination.  
  
_*”I hear and obey, bright lady.”*_ Ravishwing tossed his head, glaring down at the street below that was crawling with groundpounder Outsiders. *” _What are they here for?”*_  
  
_*”What do they do, always and always, when to Vos they come? With troops and with containment fields, to steal from us they come. There, look.”*_ Midnight blue claws gestured at the phalanx of bulky groundlings, obviously Senate hired enforcers. A returning group carried a screaming hatchling, the trine of protesting creators beaten down under the heavy weight of more guards. *” _The younglings they come to take, that they do. The adults there, see? Caged they are. The city, defenceless is. Our numbers, diminished by Council command are. Many trines, sent from Vos have been, under guise of deployment. But in reality, for this reason removed, so that this prevent they cannot.”*_  
  
_*”What can we do?”*_ Ravishwing asked, looking determinedly at Glitterblind. *” _We can’t let them do this to us!”*_  
  
_*”A moment, please.”*_ Glitterblind reached out along a trinebond not yet consummated. Normally what she tried would be impossible, but she had known Battalion for vorns now, and her Sigma gift of empathy boosted the windbond and to-be-trinebond enough to make it possible. In the trapped crowd of adult Seekers, a burgundy form began to move with a purpose. Glitterblind smiled in grim satisfaction. *” _There. Battalion, of the others will inquire. The locations of the sparklings we soon will have.”*  
  
*”Where will we take them?”*_ Ravishwing asked, accepting the first silent databurst from Glitterblind as they crept carefully away. *” _They’re crawling all over the place. Where in the city would be safe enough?”*  
  
*”To the Gardens, we will go. There, a hiding place is. A cavern to hide us, into the design was built. The crystals our signals will mask.”*_ Glitterblind reached out and grasped Ravishwing’s hand, doing all she could to strengthen the fragile to-be-trinebond between them. *” _Sorry I am, that our date interrupted was. Later perhaps, make it up we can.”*_  
  
Ravishwing looked startled for a moment, then grinned blindingly squeezing back. *” _Don’t worry about it. At least it’s a memorable start to the courtship!”*  
  
*”Careful you must be.”*_ Glitterblind cautioned as she released his hand and turned as the path split. *” _At the Gardens, you I shall see!”*  
  
*”You too, bright lady.”*_ Ravishwing returned the sentiment before they headed out in opposite directions.  
  
Time passed in a tight haze of terror, locating classmates and friends who had hidden as best they could at their parent’s warnings. Vos was littered with temporary boltholes, proof of the Seekers paranoid battle programming. But the hiding places were at most temporary, for Seekers relied too much on their ability to fly away from a danger they could not fight.  
  
Glitterblind felt a guilty wave of relief when she found her best friend Slipstream, the only other femme to attend the Academy at the same time as Glitterblind. Slipstream had dodged the Council goons, carrying her younger brother Starscream to safety and pulling her neighbour’s Seekerlets along as well. Overcast was in the class a level below them, a youngling with a reputation for hating confrontation, but he was clinging to his younger brother Jetfire with a tense snarl that boded ill for any mech who dared to try and take the hatchling from him.  
  
_*”Invisibility, a useful gift is.”*_ Glitterblind telegraphed as she ghosted up to the hidden group, ducking into the sheltered alcove that hid them from sight.  
  
_*”You’re telling me?”*_ Slipstream’s wings conveyed back, while the white hatchling in her arms stared at the new arrival, silent and wary.  
  
A crunch, the heavy tread of an Outsider’s pede heralding the arrival of another patrol. No Seeker made that much noise just walking around. Slipstream crouched lower in their hidden niche, muffling little Starscream as Overcast did the same thing to his brother. Glitterblind strained her empathic projection to the limits, subtly encouraging the patrol to pass them by without paying too much attention. The young Seekers all slumped in relief when the footsteps faded, and Glitterblind signalled that they were out of her sensing range.  
  
Slipstream looked at her friend. *” _Where do we go from here?”*  
  
*”In the Gardens, a safe place is.”*_ Glitterblind sent the directions with a quick ping. *” _There, we gather. Until gone the Outsiders are, we all must hide.”*  
  
*”Obviously.”*_ Slipstream grimaced, and then grabbed Overcast, dragging him along behind her. *” _Come on. We have to go!”*_  
  
Glitterblind watched her friend take off, confident that they would be fine. Slipstream was like a force of nature when she had a goal.  
  
Creeping along, Glitterblind winced as Battalion informed her of another sparkling that had already been found by the groundpounder patrols. And they called Seekers incapable of caring for sparklings! _Seekers_ were not the ones tearing hatchlings from their Creators! _Seekers_ were not the ones destroying families and shattering bonds to satisfy greed and petty jealousy! The hulking grounders swarming their city outweighed the comparatively slender Seekers by two or three times. Exactly _who_ were the violent ones here?  
  
Calming herself, Glitterblind slipped into an empty apartment complex, following the directions she received from the residents via Battalion to a small, hidden crèche. Swiftly, not knowing how much time was left before another patrol went by, she put the sparkling in her canopy, swung the two black hatchlings under her wings, snatched the wide opticked Flightless youngling into her arms and dashed out of the building only a breem ahead of the next patrol.  
  
A harrowing cycle later, Glitterblind arrived at the Gardens, picking her way through the crystal clusters until she entered the well hidden cavern that was the Gardens greatest secret. You needed to be either very small, say, no bigger than a hatchling to get in from the ground level. Any larger, and you needed to be able to fly in root mode to even find it.  
  
_*”Glitterblind!”*_ Ravishwing rushed up, taking the youngling from her and pushing him towards a group of waiting fledglings, and a pinch faced Slipstream made her way over to them as Ravishwing looked Glitterblind over. *” _Are you okay?”*  
  
*”Fine, I am.”*_ Glitterblind reassured them and quickly looked out over the assembled Seekerlets, feeling her spark sink as she finished the tally. Handing off the two hatchlings to a pair of tense-winged age mates, Glitterblind did a circuit of the room to double check her numbers. Finally, she stopped walking with a soft sigh. *” _Now, here we must stay. Hidden and silent we must be.”*  
  
*”What about the others?”*_ Slipstream asked angrily. *” _I **know** this isn’t all of us!”*  
  
*”Impossible it would be, to unseen move about.”*_ Glitterblind looked around sadly, aware that the other fledglings were all watching her. *” _More, no others unfound remain. Here only are those from Outsiders hands still free.”*  
  
*”Smelting Pits, no!”*_ Ravishwing could not stop the growl, though he managed to cut it off, a spark deep pain etching itself on his face. *” _You’re sure? My… my brother isn’t here.”*  
  
*”Battalion, myself did inform, when patrols with sparklings returned, each by each. Also, of the creators inquired, so that all may accounted for be.”*_ Glitterblind gestured helplessly, aching with regret and the pain Ravishwing felt as he reached along the family bond for his brother, the backlash of _*pain/terror*_ making him cut off his vocalizer lest the anguished keens break free and give them away. *” _Match up, the numbers do. All not here, in government hands are.”*  
  
*”Primus.”*_ Slipstream held Starscream closer, unwilling to take the chance of putting him down lest he disappear too, as Glitterblind pinged her with the numbers. Glitterblind pulled Ravishwing close to her in an embrace both comfort and restraint, to prevent him from rushing to his brother and getting himself caught too. Ravishwing was not the only one there that was being held by friends or classmates to that dual purpose. Slipstream looked at Ravishwing with sympathy instead of her usual distain. *” _They’ve taken so many of us. What do we do now?”*  
  
*”Wait, we must. Nought else done can be.”*_ Glitterblind pet Ravishwing’s helm and pulled him down beside her as she settled into place next to several hatchlings that looked ready to cry out. The Contrastes set out to project as many calm and soothing feelings as she could to keep the little ones quiet. Ravishwing stirred beside her, and raised his own Sigma gift to bolster hers, sending comfort to his now-lost brother as a grief stricken last gift. The effect of their Sigma talents was immediate, the tiny whimpers and distressed clicks faded as the youngest among them dropped into recharge. Slipstream grimly organized the older younglings and fledglings, all those capable of flight, and assigned them groups of the youngest.  
  
_*”If we get found, you grab your group and scatter.”*_ Slipstream ordered them as she finished setting things up. *” _You younglings who can’t fly yet, run **down**. They won’t be able to follow you into the places where you fit, and the labyrinth under Vos is huge. **Don’t** stop running until you get a call back from your parents or you find other Seekers. Understand?”*_  
  
Nods and agreement came from all corners, and it was only then that Slipstream released the tight grip she was keeping on herself. Manually disabling Starscream’s vocalizer with trembling fingers just before the pain coming from her parents crashed through her hastily erected barriers. Starscream’s tiny face screwed up as he howled soundlessly and Slipstream doubled over, rocking back and forth as her parents pain lashed at her.  
  
_*”Slipstream?”*_ Glitterblind watched helplessly as her friend fell apart.  
  
_*”It’s Tor Nova…*”_ Slipstream’s intakes hitched, making her wings jerk and obscuring her message. *” _He’s lost the sparkling. The Outsiders… they dragged him off when he went into separation early. They won’t let Tor Ellipsis and Trix Horizon stay with him. The bond to the newspark just shattered! They **killed** my brother!”*_  
  
Overcast curled up next to Slipstream, pressing close as he tried to offer what comfort he could. It seemed to help. Slipstream’s shuddering lessened enough that her teal wings no longer rattled. One of Slipstream’s arms wrapped around Overcast, pulling him closer until he practically took up what part of her lap Starscream had not already claimed.  
  
_*”Glitterblind, can you help calm Screamer down?”*_ Slipstream looked numb, which was an improvement over hysterical at least.  
  
Glitterblind nodded, focusing on shunting Starscream into recharge before the poor little spark damaged himself. Then, another sparkling, and another needed the same treatment as their relative safety opened up panic-blocked bonds enough for the gathered Seekerlets to feel their families worry and pain. Eventually, all was calm, and the youth of Vos settled down to wait out their darkest hour.  
  
=/=


	2. Many lines, none alike in dignity...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broken and breaking, shattered and lost... many things happen in the aftermath of the Raids. Some things good, and some things bad.
> 
> ... Then there are some things so much worse as to have been born in nightmares.
> 
> The future is in motion, and the gears of fate have begun to turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the characters that we meet in this chapter are toys only characters, or fantastically obscure comics one-panel occurrences. So don't feel bad if you don't recognize everyone. (Or, you know, _anyone_.)
> 
> We're just going to get a bit of a run-up before we _really_ get the plot going.

=/=

**(In which Cardinal makes a pilgrimage.)**

Cardinal had not looked back when he left behind the senior priest that had accompanied him on his journey thus far. The path he walked was difficult, and demanding, and few chose to risk it. The little used temple and its secret access to the tunnels that plumbed the very depths of Cybertron was a closely guarded mystery of the Vos clergy. Those few who were shown the way were given only one warning. _Keep it secret, keep it safe._ For all others, the way was shut.

Down and down he went, into the under-dark, away from the stars and the moons and the whole wide world. Cardinal travelled down, down alone, and never looked back.

That was important. You had to remember to always look forward when facing your destiny. Otherwise, you might stumble, fall, and meet your fate instead.

Cardinal’s pedefalls echoed hollowly, eerily, as he travelled down the empty tunnels. Though meticulously kept free of debris by the Order, the disused corridors were narrow and cramped and Cardinal wondered how his Skyborn brethren ever managed to make this journey without collapsing in claustrophobic hysteria. Primus only knew Cardinal was getting twitchy under the oppressive weight of silent, tight halls. The Skyborn must find this pilgrimage to be nothing short of torture. It was no wonder the priests of the higher echelons could remain serene no matter the situation. After completing this route alone, most anything else was nothing to panic over. Cardinal could feel the pressure bearing down on him, the burden of faith, carrying the weight of the world and all of its many sins and failings and virtues and triumphs.

Cardinal kept moving down, alone with his thoughts and fears and hesitations, without a single thing to distract him from his own shortcomings, but he kept his back straight and his pace smooth and walked on.

It seemed like an eternity later, though really it was only a megacycle, that Cardinal received the first sign of nearing his destination. Little by little, the temperature rose until Cardinal’s cooling fans were running full time, at full speed. It was only a cycle after that when Cardinal stepped out of the tunnels into a vast chamber.

The gravity was… strange here, had been acting strangely for some time, but it was only now that he was in a relatively open space that Cardinal truly noticed. The thin bridge he stood on was but one of many that arced from the smooth-polished gold walls to the massive glyph-covered sphere that hung suspended in the very center of the chamber. The slender cables of the bridge suspension were nowhere near enough to support the weight of the massive edifice. It defied gravity under its own power. This close to the planet’s core, anti-gravity devices were unreliable, and so there was no way for what Cardinal was seeing to be possible. Trying to locate the supports that had to be (should have been) there was a futile endeavour. His optics slid off the walls, off the other ramps, off the edges of the dome, as if the very air sought to keep Cardinal from focusing on anything but the path beneath his pedes and the door at the far end of it.

Shaking himself out of his contemplation, Cardinal squared his shoulders, settled his sensor panels, and walked forward. It was a dizzying, disconcerting trek. Cardinal had no true conception of his surroundings, and that disorientation was dangerous. Should he slip or stumble his anti-gravs would not save him, not here in the planet’s core, not when the haze on his sensors made locating even the wall a challenge. It got worse the further he moved, worsened until a nearly blind stumbled carried Cardinal through those last few shaking steps needed to fall heavily against the door. Cardinal clung to what seemed to be the only stable point in the world, fans screaming in the muffling stillness.

Cardinal rested for one sparkpulse, two, fighting to get his bearings, leaning hard on the solid presence of the door while the rest of the chamber seemed to spin around him.

The door folded open, dissolving under his touch, and Cardinal fell forward into an eternity of light and glory.

/…/

The guide-priest looked up as the door to the Inner Path scraped open. Standing, the Guide remained silent as Cardinal shut the door quietly behind him and walked out of the temple into the open air. Raising his face to the sky, Cardinal vented a shaky sigh, tipping his panel array back and relaxing stiff cables.

“How was your journey?” The Guide locked up the temple behind them with a small smile.

“… Enlightening.” Cardinal’s optic band flashed with star-fire and sparklight before fading back familiar gold. “Quite enlightening.”

The Guide just hummed knowingly and turned to lead them back home.

=/=

**(In which Interceptor is propositioned.)**  
  
“Interceptor, could I talk to you for a click?” The softly melodic voice came from the doorway, pulling Interceptor’s grim attention away from the report he was reading.  
  
“Bulwark? Did you need something?” Interceptor put the datapad he was holding down on his desk as his patrol partner walked slowly into their shared office. “Stop hovering and sit down. What is wrong?”  
  
“Nothing’s _wrong_ , exactly, Partner. I was just hoping that you could do me a teeny-tiny insignificant favour. As a friend, eh?” Bulwark grinned at the other mech as he flung himself down into the chair at his desk, sharp and feral stubborn as his name, but still somehow shy for all his bravado. “I hear that you’ve gotten that frigid aft Spectre sparked up. I’m not even going to ask how you managed to finagle that nose-up airhead into your berth.”  
  
“To answer the question you ‘have not’ asked, it was a moment of mutual understanding while both yourself and Spectre’s trinemates were in the medical bay after the last raid.” Interceptor’s optics flickered as he spoke, recalling the sickening dread that had pervaded the entire city. The Guard Captain looked away, fighting down the memory of his partner and best friend beaten into stasis by those who claimed to act in the best interests of the Cybertronian peoples. “We did not intend to create, but we were both too distracted by the situation to take precautions, and the tests indicate that the newspark is mine.”  
  
“Hey, I’m not asking you to justify yourself, Partner.” Bulwark held up his hands, wincing inwardly at reminding his friend of bad times just barely past. “Put your brakes on, I was just offering you my congratulations.”  
  
“Oh? Well, thank you then.” Interceptor huffed in aggravation as his irrepressible partner snickered. “I will make certain to pass on your kind thoughts to Spectre.”  
  
“So... are you going to be spending a lot of time with him? For the sparkling’s sake, I mean?” Bulwark was not every skilled at hiding his thoughts, and it was obvious that he was upset by something, even as he tried to hide his distress behind a wavering grin. “Guess that’ll teach you to interface without using protection!”  
  
“Bulwark.” Interceptor frowned, not liking the darkness in his partner’s optics and interrupting the other mech before he could begin to babble. “You did not come to see me just to talk about Spectre. I know you and he do not get along. Please, tell me what bothers you?”  
  
“I...” Bulwark hunched in his seat, back panels twitching rapidly in a blatant display of nervousness. “I... was kinda hoping that we could, you know. Since we’re partners and best friends and everything. I just figured that when the time came, we’d help each other out, you know? To, um, do our duty to our lines and stuff. Well, and, uh, I guess you don’t need to anymore, unless the sparkling in Skyborn?”  
  
“Bulwark, enough.” Interceptor stared at his partner for a long moment, completely surprised. Bulwark squirmed helplessly, shrinking down to try and hide behind the prodigious stacks of backlogged reports that covered the surface of his desk. Shaking his head, Interceptor dredged up a mystified smile. He knew he was bad at noticing personal things, his genitor and told him this often enough, but Interceptor recognized that he must have been _amazingly_ obtuse to have missed his friend’s intentions for so long, because Bulwark was not the kind of mech to spring this sort of thing on Interceptor spontaneously. “It is early to say for certain, the density tests indicate that the sparkling is most likely Flightless. My duty to Vos is done. My line will continue.”  
  
“Oh. Yeah.” Bulwark shifted uneasily. “That’s what I figured.”  
  
“However, this sparkling was an accident, however joyous and welcomed an accident. I did not plan this creation, and I must admit to some apprehensions as to sharing the raising of the youngling with Spectre.” Interceptor leaned forward, bridging the gap between their desks to still his partner’s restless hands under his own. “If you ask this of me in earnest, my dear friend, then it would be my honour and my pleasure to help you in fulfilling your duty to our people.”  
  
“Really?” Bulwark brightened, grinning as Interceptor smiled back. “So, um, do you wanna help me make a sparkling?”  
  
Interceptor snorted, coughing to cover the laugh in his voice at his partner’s eagerness as he nodded, optics dancing with mirth. “As I said before, I would be most pleased to help you with this endeavour, Bulwark.”  
  
Squeaking happily, Bulwark bounced a little in his seat, held in place by the grip Interceptor still had on his hands. “You’re the best partner ever!”  
  
=/=

**(In which we have issues.)**  
  
The brightly coloured hatchling was confused. He understood, on a basic level, that his creator had lost the newspark he had been carrying. The little Seeker also knew that the scary Outsiders were the ones who had hurt his creators and killed the newspark. It had hurt when the bond shattered. It had hurt more than anything the Seekerling had experienced in his entire short, sheltered life. Nothing had seemed to be quite right since then. They lived in the same quarters. He played with the same toys. Yet something was off. Even though he did not yet have the words to explain, Starscream knew that his family was somehow broken.  
  
Knowledge, however, does not equal understanding. Comprehension does not equate acceptance. Age does not necessarily bring grace.  
  
Starscream stretched up on the very tips of his pedes to carefully slide the last building block into place. Stepping back, the Seeker hatchling looked over his construction with a critical optic. Leaning forward, he poked one block an infinitesimal amount to the right. Satisfied at last, Starscream looked over his creation, a spiralling tower-wall taller than he was that greatly resembled one of Vos’ historical sites. Chirruping happily, Starscream bounced over to where his creator was seated on the other side of the room.  
  
“Matter!” Starscream trilled, tugging at his creator’s knee. “Matter! Lookit what I built!”  
  
Starscream was excited. His creators always, _always_ smiled when he showed them the things he made. Now Matter would look at Starscream’s tower and smile and be happy and things would be good again. Normal. “Matter, look!”  
  
The adult Seeker did not move for a long moment. Starscream pouted in frustration, his voice grew louder, shriller, more insistent the longer he was ignored. Slowly, dull optics turned first to Starscream, who chirped happily at the movement, and then the adult Seeker looked across the room at Starscream’s painstakingly built tower.  
  
“Matter?” Starscream warbled, head tilting in confusion at his creator’s unfamiliar silence and solemnity. “Do you like it? It’s my biggest tower ever!”  
  
A beat of silence passed as Starscream waited patiently for the smile, the praise, the hug. It would come soon. It was just taking a bit longer than usual because Matter was feeling unwell right now.  
  
Then the adult Seeker’s composed face crumpled as he surged to his feet in agitation, the abrupt movement knocking Starscream back with a startled squeak. Roaring in outraged grief, Starscream’s creator hurled a mostly empty energon cube at the block tower, sending the majority of the structure tumbling to the floor in a rain of clattering crashes.  
  
More shocked and frightened than truly hurt, Starscream began to wail while his creator stood stock still, staring with wide optics at the energon splattered building blocks like they had personally betrayed him.  
  
“Nova! What on Cybertron is going on in here?” Starscream’s Tor and Trix rushed into the room, Slipstream following close behind them. While the two adults focused on their trinemate the young femme took in the tumbled, scattered blocks, the screaming hatchling on the floor, and most importantly… the guilty look on her creator’s face.  
  
“I-I… Oh Primus.” Nova sank to his knees, reaching for his creation. “Starscream, please winglet, come here. Matter didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”  
  
Starscream jerked away from Nova’s outstretched hands. Oblivious to the pain his seeming rejection would cause, Starscream reached imploringly to his sister, who had provided the majority of his comfort since the raid and its horrific consequences. His creators all flinched, and Nova’s face was a picture of despair as Slipstream swooped in, snatching her younger brother up off the floor.  
  
“What is _wrong_ with you? With all of you!” Slipstream demanded, outrage plain in every line of her as she clutched Starscream close. The hatchling’s wails had reduced to whimpers once in his sister’s arms, intakes hitching as immature systems overheated in response to his distress. Slipstream looked at the spark-broken expression on Starscream’s face, like all his dreams had been crushed in front of him, before rounding furiously on her creators with a harsh scowl and a bitter hiss. “I know it hurts, Tor. I hurt too! I can only _imagine_ what it’s like for you, having been bound that much closer, but _that’s no excuse_ to take it out on Starscream! Or on me either! You can’t keep on ignoring us, or getting angry with us when you can’t ignore us anymore! The newspark may be gone, but _we’re_ still here. I’m still here. Starscream’s still here! You _haven’t_ lost everything, so stop acting like it! You have a flock, here, now, alive! But you won’t for much longer if you don’t start acting like it! Get a hold of yourself, or get lost!”  
  
Without giving her creators time to recover from her furious tirade or respond to her words, Slipstream whirled around and slammed out of the family unit’s apartment. Burying her own pain under righteous indignation and anger, Slipstream buffered Starscream as much as she could from the confused whirl of agony and guilt that plagued her creator’s side of the flock bond. Taking to the air, Slipstream headed for the Gardens. Chances were her friends would be there, if not now then sometime soon.  
  
At least while they were in the Gardens no one would be throwing things.  
  
=/=

**(In which a Seeker is sold.)**  
  
Inspector finished welding the slave collar to the blue Seeker’s spark chamber. The incessant screeching had cut off abruptly about a breem before, for which he was thankful. The noise had been annoying him, but thankfully not enough to interfere in his work. Examining the weld lines and retooled shell, the scientist nodded in satisfaction. The work was completed, neatly done, and fulfilled the customer’s specifications.  
  
Pressing the frequency-key the buyer had so thoughtfully provided to the slave collar, Inspector waited patiently for the soft chime that signalled the completion of the product. As a light flashed twice, changing from pink to blue, Inspector waved off his assistants and ran a scanner over the now-quiet Seeker in a fussy final check.  
  
“We are finished with your gift, Councillor.” Inspector said, setting aside his tools with a sharp nod of professional satisfaction.  
  
“Excellent!” The Towers mech who had been standing off to one side, politely remaining out of the scientist’s way and watching with interest as the Seeker was rendered unrecognizable, stepped forward and looked over his newest acquisition with pleased optics. He turned to the scientist after only the briefest examination of the rebuilt Seeker. “You do wonderful work, doctor. Quick and neat. Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to watch.”  
  
“I do try to be efficient.” The scientist said, pleased by the praise. “I am glad that your new pet satisfies you.”  
  
“That is does.” The Councillor casually pressed a credit chip into the scientist’s hand. Equally casual, Inspector sub-spaced the tip.  
  
Pleased, but professional enough not to show it, Inspector calmly passed over the data packet containing the details of the Senator’s purchase. The politician glanced briefly at the manual before sub-spacing the pad. “I hear that you have been granted a promotion. You must be pleased.”  
  
“Oh, it is always satisfying to have ones abilities acknowledged.” Inspector said vaguely, although he was indeed very pleased with his promotion. He had proven himself to his superiors while dealing with the Seeker project. Now he was done playing zookeeper with the war drones and could move on to true science.  
  
Perhaps now that he would be working on several public projects, as well as being licensed to work on his own ideas, it was time to apply to have a creation of his own making to assist him.  
  
_Not_ from the Sigma program, however. Inspector sneered, the Towers mechs did it to be frivolous, the politicians and military commanders did it for the power, but he would not have _his_ pure codes sullied by the glitch-ridden war-build filth. He actually wanted his creation to have _some_ semblance of intelligence after all.  
  
=/=

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From where I'm standing this Arc should cap out at about thirteen chapters.
> 
> Unless, of course, Rings'verse decides to be _Rings'verse_ again and ambushes me with another twenty pages of fic out of nowhere. XP
> 
> (Now that I've _thoroughly_ jinxed myself, I think I'm going to bed now. No, I'm not _hiding_ from the bunnies, I'm _sleeping_. *flounces away*)


	3. The Line of Cardinal, Stalwart and True...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even in the midst of sorrow and ruin, life moves ever onwards.
> 
> Sometimes all you can do is hold your silence and forge ahead despite the pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to introduce you all to some prominent figures who will nonetheless never be mentioned by a History Text. ^_^
> 
> Also if you recognize the origins of more than two of the names in this chapter I will be _very_ impressed. ♥

=/=

**(In which there is Rejection.)**  
  
“It’s not mine.” The pale Skyborn turned away from the sparkling held in Interceptor’s hands. “Take it away.”  
  
“Spectre...” Interceptor looked uncharacteristically helpless, unable to do anything to resolve the situation a hand to a beneficial end.  
  
“No. I can’t feel it! It’s not mine!” Spectre glared briefly at Interceptor and his burden, just for a moment, before looking quickly away, wings vibrating like he was picking up on sensor ghosts. “I told you this before! Leave me alone!”  
  
“I… understand. Please, accept my apologies for disturbing you.” Inclining his head politely, Interceptor turned on his heel and left the recovery room Spectre had been placed in before the Skyborn’s jealously hovering trinemates made up their minds to evict him themselves.   
  
The last few cycles had been crazy. Once it became apparent that the newspark had begun separation a quarter of an orn too early, even for a Flightless spark, the Skyborn had been rushed to the medical facility. Still, the trauma of the situation had been enough to shatter the creation bond between Spectre and their offspring. They had all counted themselves lucky when the newspark had proved both stubborn and strong enough to survive the initial format of its protoform. Then it became irrefutably apparent that there was no bond between Spectre and the sparkling. The medics had tried to prepare Interceptor to expect the worst. The sparkling was not likely to survive long if the bond between it and the carrier had already broken. Interceptor had demanded to hold his creation and refused to be denied until the sparkling was finally placed in his arms. It was immediately obvious that the bond between Interceptor and his creation had held strong and true.  
  
“I don’t understand it.” The medic said to Interceptor, following the new parent down the hall and shaking his head. “In Rejection cases this extreme it’s all or nothing. Either both parents manage to hold on or both lose the bond to the sparkling. It’s the most telling sign for if the sparkling is going to make it or not. I have _never_ seen one creator disconnect completely while the other creator is bound completely. It’s almost as if this was done on purpose.”  
  
Interceptor nodded along solemnly at the medic’s explanation, refraining from commenting on the matter.  
  
“Thank you for all you have done to help.” Interceptor said softly as they drew nearer to the exit. “I will remember it.”  
  
“My pleasure, Guardian!” The medic said cheerfully, and departed after one last considering look at the most recent medical miracle to enter the world. “Don’t forget to finish the paperwork!”  
  
“I will not.” Interceptor assured the mech, having already completed the tasks that assured him full legal custody of his creation.  
  
Left alone for the first time since the beginning of this cycles-long debacle, Interceptor’s expression grew weary and darkly contemplative. It had only been when the medic spoke of deliberate sundering of the bond that Interceptor recalled the disappointed frown Spectre had worn when the newspark’s tests had identified it as Flightless. Spectre’s sin was his pride, as it was for most every Seeker. The pale Seeker was worst than most, and Spectre had so wanted his creation to fly. Oh, Interceptor knew that there was no form of malice involved, but Spectre’s disappointment in the result of their ‘mutual mistake’ may very well have encouraged the premature separation of the newspark and was most likely responsible for the creation bond being utterly dissolved only on Spectre’s part.  
  
“Interceptor!” Bulwark shouted, leaping up from his seat in the waiting room, jarring the other Flightless from his melancholy thoughts and bringing Interceptor’s attention back to the here-and-now. “Is that it? Lemme see! Lemme see!”  
  
As always, his partner’s exuberance made Interceptor smile despite himself. In spite of his name, Bulwark was slight and slender, not a mini-build, but obviously on the smaller side of average. Instead, like it was with most Seekers, it was Bulwark’s personality that gave meaning to his name. A bulwark of compassion, Interceptor’s patrol partner was perhaps one of the best things to have ever happened to the exceedingly serious Guardian.  
  
“Thank you for staying, Bulwark. You did not have to.” Interceptor smiled gently at his bouncing partner, feeling most of the chill leave his spark. “Would you like to meet him?”  
  
“Of course I stayed!” Bulwark looked affronted that Interceptor would suggest he do otherwise for all of two clicks before bounding over to peer down at the sparkling Interceptor was ever so carefully cradling in his cupped hands. “Oh wow! I never expected him to be so small! I mean, they tell us about it, but seeing it’s a whole other thing. What’s his name?”  
  
“I know what you mean.” Interceptor looked down at his sparkling with amazed pride glowing brightly in his optics, lightly touching the bond to his creation and relishing the feeling of _:tired/warm/safe:_ that greeted him, a trusting warmth that overlay the still so new consciousness that spoke of _:hunting in silence:_ at its core. “His designation is Prowl.”  
  
“Prowl.” Bulwark said the name slowly, like he was testing it for suitability before use. “It fits him, I think.”   
  
“So glad you approve.” Interceptor responded dryly, and smiled helplessly as his partner laughed and dragged him out of the medical center towards home.  
  
=/=

**(In which Interceptor says goodbye.)**  
  
“Do ya really have to go?” Bulwark asked sadly, red optics gleaming with unspoken regrets.  
  
“I am sorry.” Was all Interceptor could say in response, spark aching with the pain of being too late, too late, you waited too long. “Prowl needs me to be there as he matures. You know what the chances are of a severely glitched sparkling surviving to adulthood without a dedicated caretaker. I… if I were to abandon him now...”  
  
“I’d never speak to ya again.” Bulwark shook his head, summoning up a shaky smile. “I’ll miss ya, partner, but ya need to do what’s right by little Prowl. I’ll… we’ll be okay. Getting transferred to Praxus ain’t that bad. Better than going to Iacon at any rate. At least… at least ya got to stay long enough to meet ‘Cade.”  
  
“I called in a few favours in order to delay Prowl’s transfer to the Praxus facility.” Interceptor admitted softly, reaching out to gently stroke tiny backpanels. The black sparkling chirred gently under his genitor’s touch, settling deeper into recharge. Shuttering his optics, Interceptor fought to control his emotions. When he felt steady again, Interceptor sent a soft wave of _:love/regret/love:_ down the creation bond and spoke softly, sadly. “Farewell, Barricade. Be good for your formatter.”  
  
“ _Interceptor_!” Bulwark’s voice cracked under the strain of his riotous emotions, and Interceptor’s backpanels were painfully rigid with the same turmoil.  
  
“Shshsh, I know. I _know_. Please do not... do not say anything further. I know, Bulwark. Please.” Unable to hold back any longer, Interceptor stepped forward, meeting Bulwark halfway as the green and black flightless flung himself into his black and white partner’s arms. “Take care of yourself. Take care of Barricade. I will be in touch, I promise you this.”  
  
“I know. I know. I will.” Bulwark clung tightly to his partner’s frame, not wanting to let go but knowing that he would eventually have to. “I’m gonna miss ya, partner.”  
  
“As I will you.” Interceptor shuttered his optics again, hands pressed just below Bulwark’s backpanels, tipping his head forward until they were pressed helm to helm, traditional chevrons resting each against the others. They stood silent and still as they soaked in the feeling of holding and being held by their best friend, this last moment in their partner’s embrace. Eventually though, even moments that should last forever come to an end. Interceptor was forced by duty to be the first to pull back. “I... I have to go. If you need anything... anything at all, my genitor has returned from his pilgrimage. He will not begrudge you aide, nor even company, should that be all you need of him.”  
  
“Okay.” Bulwark let go reluctantly as Interceptor stepped back. “See ya later, Interceptor. Ya were… ya were the best damn partner I could’ve had. Say goodbye to lil’ Prowl for me, would ya?”  
  
“I will. I shall always cherish our time together.” Interceptor paused at the threshold, looking back at his now-former partner and their shared sparkling. The sparkling Bulwark had _asked_ Interceptor for. The sparkling they had made together with nothing but joy. The pain of the separation was clear in his optics. “Farewell Bulwark, Barricade. I will always care... very strongly for both of you.”  
  
Unable to stand it any longer, Interceptor turned and left (fled) pain tearing at his spark and processors. Bulwark lunged at the door before it could close and shouted at Interceptor’s retreating back. “This ain’t forever, ya hear me! Ya bring Prowl home, Interceptor! Ya’ll come _home_!”  
  
The words echoed, pained and desperate and ringing in the silence that fell heavy in their wake. There were no more words after that. Nothing else to cover the sound of two sparks breaking.

=/=  
  
**(In which Interceptor leaves Vos.)**  
  
Cardinal watched sadly as his sole surviving creation packed his things.  
  
“You will not reconsider?” The priest asked quietly. “There is still a chance that the bond will reform.”  
  
“No. I am sorry, Genitor.” Interceptor looked up from his packing. “You have not seen Spectre since he went into Rejection of the newspark. The creation bond is well and truly broken. Perhaps, if we had been mated…”  
  
“To mate one you do not love is not the answer, my youngling.” Cardinal cycled a sigh. “I suppose this is just Primus’ Will.”  
  
“I shall trust you to be the judge of that, for you are far more knowledgeable in the matter than I.” Interceptor said with a small smile, then looked away, continuing in a quiet tone. “They have already tagged my sparkling as one who is to be sent to the Praxus facility. My bond to him is undamaged, and I will not see it broken. I cannot see him go to another, nor allow him to be alone in one of the care centres.”  
  
“He is… glitched then?” Cardinal asked gently, understanding on his face. Vos was a dangerous place to raise sparklings at the best of time, what with the threat of another Raid hanging over them. A sparkling with a glitch, a little one who might not have the sense to run or hide or defend itself, at least not until _after_ its processor had adapted to the glitch… they were vulnerable. At terrible risk. So the glitched Flightless sparklings were sent to Praxus, and their Seeker status hidden. It was strange, but the few Skyborn who formatted with oddities only had minor glitches, and they were safe enough in the more hidden aeries. It seemed that Primus had exchanged the sky-hunger that all the Skyborn suffered from for the many different glitches the often cropped up within the Flightless Seekerkin. Cardinal crooned a note of comfort to his offspring. “Do you know what the glitch is?”  
  
“No, but… he is quiet. Very quiet.” Interceptor closed the last of his crates and fisted his claws on top, head bowed. “Sometimes he just… freezes, crashes, locks up… Last time he nearly burned out some of his processor connections.”  
  
“Is there anything that can be done?” Cardinal asked sympathetically as Interceptor calmed himself down.  
  
“As long as he is kept on a schedule and things remain calm then he exhibits no signs of the glitch.” Interceptor turned to his genitor, clasping Cardinal’s hands in his own. “I have to go, the transport for Praxus leaves in a cycle, and I need to be ready when it does.”  
  
“Primus will watch over you, spark of my spark.” Cardinal gently rested his helm against Interceptor’s. “And best of luck.”  
  
“Thank you, for understanding, Genitor.” Interceptor grew back. “I will return and visit when I can.”  
  
“Of course you will.” Cardinal said with a smile, keying open the door for a burdened Interceptor. Cardinal stepped aside and laid a hand on Interceptor’s shoulder. “You have everything you need? Things in Praxus are arranged? You have employment? A home?”  
  
“Yes, Genitor.” Interceptor replied patiently, used to his creator’s fretting. “Vos provides, and the Emirate always needs more mechs to take up positions Outside among the Peacekeepers and in the government. I will be working as a Law Enforcer, and hopefully will manage to gain a position that shall allow me to aid Vos.”  
  
“Very well.” Cardinal tightening his grip on his creation, but looking resigned. “Before you leave, at least tell me what the sparkling’s designation is.”  
  
“Prowl.” Interceptor said, the pride and joy of a new creator replacing worry and sorrow. “My sparkling’s designation is Prowl.”  
  
“A good name.” Cardinal replied and released his hold on his creation, watching Interceptor’s back until the other Flightless disappeared into the distance.  
  
=/=

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look, it's our first glimpse of Vos Culture and what was that? Was that the start of Prowl's Tragic Backstory? I think it _was_.
> 
> Did I make you cry? ^.^~♥


	4. Secret Heritage, Younglinghood Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seekers are, by the very nature of their primary function, predators. They will wait, patiently, lying still in preparation of the right moment. When the ambush comes, it comes without warning, all unexpected.
> 
> (Those who seek to cage the whirlwind will reap only the doom of their own making.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE WORLDBUILDING! I am _committed_ , my friends. I want to make Cybertron come _alive_ and also be the kind of society that is a sealed pot of _boiling tensions_ because Civil War doesn't happen out of nowhere.

=/=

 **(In which Faberge is cracked.)**  
  
Faberge looked at the hatchling curled up in his lap. Mirage was the only thing that reminded him of joy in his Unmaker-cursed life. Yet even that meagre happiness was wrought with sorrow and countless aching regrets.  
  
His sparklet was so young, so very innocent. Mirage carried none of the corrosion, none of the rusting sins of his accursed genitor. Even the mechlet’s colours were all Faberge, cool blue and gleaming white and sharp burning gold optics.  
  
It soothed Faberge to see nothing of his rapist in his offspring. Even in defeat he had won, the creation he had suffered so to bring into being was nothing of _that mech's_. Mirage was Faberge’s, in every way there was to be. It was painfully endearing to see Mirage attempt to emulate Faberge in action and demeanour, seeing his Formatter’s aloofness as poise rather than spark-deep suffering. Every time Mirage snuck into see him, Faberge knew that he had won the war against the mech who had so callously clipped his wings. The bond between Faberge and Mirage was staticky, strained by Faberge’s constant agony and steadily growing madness, but it was strong despite all that, and assured the imprisoned Seeker of his ultimate victory.  
  
Mirage was Seeker born, through and through. Ignorant of his heritage, yes, unable to hear the skysong, perhaps, maybe even blocked from the windbond. Yes, all that and more, but still undoubtedly Seekerkin. Faberge smiled dreamily to himself and wondered if he would be able to remain sane long enough to enjoy the look on the arrogant dirtcrawler’s face when Mirage inevitably turned against him for harming his flock. There was no bond between Mirage and his genitor to stop the young Seeker when that time came. The Tower’s mech who had imprisoned him distained such a bond as a weakness, such delicious irony it would be when Faberge’s tormentor realized his hubris.  
  
Faberge smiled, dark and gloating, a knife-blade in the shadows as he pet his slumbering hatchling’s helm and back, wondering idly what Mirage would have looked like with wings.  
  
=/=

 **(In which Thundercracker meets Skywarp.)**  
  
The Flight Instructor led the Seeker youngling down the hall, long time habits keeping his fast stride short enough to allow the youngling to keep pace without offending prickly adolescent pride by being obvious about slowing down for the youngling.  
  
“This is your dorm.” The adult Seeker keyed open one of many identical doors in the largely featureless corridor. “And this is your room. I’m sure you know how to code a door? Yes? Good. Code it as soon as I leave. Classes start in a megacycle, so you have plenty of time to get settled in.”  
  
“Yes sir.” The youngling said quietly, obviously a bit daunted by all the new situations being at the Flight Academy would bring him to face.  
  
“Hi!” The youngling turned around, seeing another youngling in his age bracket stick his head out of the room next to his. “Are you gonna be in my class?”  
  
“Uh, yeah. Guess so.” The first youngling said, feeling strange as he looked at the other youngling. Something inside had started to fizz and sparkle at the sight of the other young Seeker, and he had to know. “What’s your name?”  
  
“Me? I’m Skywarp!” The other youngling answered, grinning as he looked at his blue counterpart, maniac cheer unleashed in bouncing, fluttering wings. “What’s yours?”  
  
“Skywarp…” The first youngling could not keep the joyful trill from his voice, the name fixing something inside him, filling a gap he had not known was empty until he heard Skywarp’s voice, as he reached out through the windbond to connect with that missing piece of his very self. “I’m Thundercracker.”  
  
“Thundercracker.” Skywarp turned the blue youngling’s designation into a song – Thundercracker had never known his name could sound like that – obviously just as affected by the strange sense of rightness as Thundercracker.  
  
Completely forgotten about, the Flight Instructor looked on in amusement as the obviously smitten younglings stared at each other. A lucky start, to find one another so young, the teacher mused as he moved away. They would do well in life if that luck held.  
  
With a simple greeting, the Destiny of Vos was set in motion.  
  
=/=

 **(In which Jazz meets Prowl.)**  
  
Jazz had not been looking forward to doing joint exercises with the Tactics and Strategy students. Jazz was comfortable with the other Special Operations students, who all shared – if not similar life experiences – then at least operated under a similar philosophy. It was easy enough to figure out which groups at the War Academy were safe to hang out with, as opposed to the ones that would turn on you at the first sign of vulnerability. Tactics students were mostly slotted into the Command Track or were bring trained up as future officers by the simple virtue of their chosen field of study, and a vast majority of them were the creations of important mechs or were somehow connected to mechs in positions of power. Jazz kept his audios tuned, and what he heard about this Tactics class made Jazz wonder if he might be better off playing hooky.  
  
But as tempting as skiving off was, Jazz was a scholarship student, and as such he could not afford to play truant if he wanted to keep his place in the Academy.  
  
Jazz had grown up on the streets of Polyhex, and his Formatter – a small-time performance musician – had struggled to support them. Jazz did not know who his Genitor was – his Matter had a bad habit of giving up his spark to anyone who offered when he was overcharged – but it did not really matter. Jazz wanted more than a life of day-to-day survival. He wanted a life where he could make plans for the future; he wanted a life worth living.  
  
So Jazz worked his aft off – trained and studied and learned to be in the right place at the right time, learned how to get noticed by the right people and learned how to stay unnoticed by the wrong people. All of his hard work had paid off in the end. Jazz said farewell to his friends – his Formatter having expired from energon poisoning some time ago, which had left Jazz in the care of the government – and Jazz packed up his things, moving into the residences provided for the War Academy students.  
  
Now he was going to be stuck with some snooty slagger with delusions of superiority for the next few megacycles until this stupid exercise was over. Honestly, he knew he would have to get used to it eventually – Tactics and Ops tended to require quite a bit of collaboration after all – but even though he knew it was immature, Jazz wanted to just keep avoiding the whole issue of needing to take orders from whichever jumped up calculator he got stuck with. Cycling air in resignation, Jazz checked his chronometer. Better get going – the last thing he needed was to be late.  
  
Arriving early with the intent of scoping things out, Jazz was surprised to discover that someone else had beaten him there. A black and white Praxian – the elegant sweep of doorwings (yes, Jazz knew that was not the correct terminology, but street slang was hard to shake off) was unmistakable – was seated on the far side of the room. Ironically, the other mech had chosen the seat Jazz himself would have taken – the one that gave the best view of the room and door and had the least number of viable attack routes. Grinning, Jazz chose to ignore the obvious signs of paranoia and took a seat next to the other student, idly wondering how this would play out as he shifted to face the Praxian.  
  
“Hey there.” Jazz pasted a friendly look onto his face, careful to keep his emissions calm as he spoke cheerfully. “You here for the joint exercise? I’m Jazz, from the Ops class. Who’re you?”  
  
Frosty blue optics lifted from the datapad the other mech had been studying to look at Jazz with a blank non-expression.  
  
“My designation is Prowl. Tactics.” The Praxian answered after a moment, expression unchanging and voice mild. “And yes, I am here to participate.”  
  
Jazz could not help but feel that there was something… off about Prowl.  
  
“Pleasure t’meet ya, Prowler.” Jazz said brightly, hiding his unease under a wall of chatter as he puzzled over the odd feeling of apprehension-joy that looking at Prowl stirred in his spark.  
  
=/=

 **(In which Jazz finds out about Prowl’s glitch.)**  
  
Jazz watched Prowl, and the Praxian mech just watched him back. No fidgeting, no signs of impatience. Just calm acceptance of whatever Jazz was about to do. The other black and white did not know what to think. Since that first joint class, Prowl and Jazz had found themselves partnering together on other exercises and projects. They worked together with the kind of seamless ease that you usually only saw in long-time partners. Not in a pair of students who had only met less than an orn before. Prowl with his stunted interpersonal skills and Jazz with his trust issues should never have found it so easy to work together. Their diametrically opposed coping mechanisms should have seen to it that they never interacted willingly. Instead, Jazz was willing to name Prowl as his best friend. It was an improbable, unlikely pairing, but it worked for them. It worked really, _really_ well, and they had the grades to prove it.  
  
Though Jazz had noticed that Prowl was always available to work with him, he had never bothered to wonder why the top ranked student never seemed to have any other offers. In fact, most if not all of the students who were closer to Prowl’s social station – the students Jazz would have expected a well brought up mech like Prowl to associate with – seemed to go out of their way to avoid the Praxian student. Sure, Prowl was kind of quiet and a little weird, but Jazz liked how calm Prowl was. Just being around Prowl was often enough to soothe Jazz when his emotions got wound up to high. Prowl was never really demonstrative with his feelings, but Jazz figured that was just Prowl’s way. There was nothing wrong with being private.  
  
Stupid, _stupid_ Jazz, _blind_ Jazz, too busy mooning over graceful doorwings and deft hands and pale optics that glowed so pretty when he managed to coax out the rare, shy smile that made his pumps thump alarmingly in his chest to pay attention to the signs.  
  
He had a glitch. _Prowl_ – calm, logical Prowl, gorgeous Prowl. Prowl who was his perfect foil, who matched him so _well_ , that Prowl, _his_ Prowl – had a glitch. Jazz wanted to scream until his vocalizer burned out, wanted to take his confused, twisted, frustrated feelings out on someone, anyone, until mech fluid flowed and energon spilled and his stupid, _stupid_ spark stopped aching. It was unfair for someone as selfless and kind as Prowl to have to suffer from a processor glitch. Prowl did not deserve that sort of stigma. The shame and ridicule and isolation that were part and parcel of living with a glitch – it was just unfair!  
  
The pack of jealous classmates, the creations of well-off, well connected members of society who did not take kindly to being outdone by anyone, they were laughing. They had no respect for a mechs private business; having cornered the two of them while Jazz was hanging out with Prowl while the other worked on yet another extra credit assignment. Jazz fought to keep his expression still as the jeering stream of vitriol continued unabated.   
  
“He’s got no emotions, you know. That’s what his glitch is. It’s impossible for him to be your friend because he can’t see the _logic_ in making friends.” The leader of the pack laughed nastily. “You’re nothing more than another resource. I wonder what’ll happen to your cozy little friendship once you aren’t useful anymore, huh?   
  
Jazz is good, but still young, and that comment strikes right at his doubts, right at where he is the most vulnerable, so Jazz cannot help but flinch and look at Prowl, who just stands there, just _stands there_ , saying nothing, quiet and silent and still and just _taking_ every nasty comment without so much as a denial.  
  
Prowl had not denied any of it.  
  
“Frag off, all of you!” Angry, hurt, Jazz shouldered their oh-so-helpful classmates aside, and wilfully ignored the hooting jeers as he dragged Prowl off to the dorms so that they could speak in private. The confusing whirl of hurt and anger kept Jazz from saying anything until the door was shut and locked, keeping the world at bay. Jazz dropped Prowl’s wrist, uneasy in the ringing silence.  
  
“Is it true?” Jazz demanded, unable to bear the uncertainty. “Is what that _afthead_ said true, Prowl?”  
  
“Yes.” Prowl dipped his head, voice quiet and truthful. “I am glitched. I am sorry, Jazz.”  
  
“Frag Prowl, no, don’t apologize, _please_ don’t apologize.” And oh Primus, Jazz had never felt so awkward, fumbling for words that had always come so easy in Prowl’s presence, this was wrong, so _wrong_. “It ain’t your fault. I just want to know what…”  
  
“It was done to save my life.” Prowl answered, stiff and unreadable. Unreadable that is, to anyone but Jazz, who had made a habit of studying Prowl’s moods and telltales. Shame, defeat, resignation – Prowl was clearly shutting down even the small hints of emotion Jazz had managed to coax out of the mech, bracing himself for Jazz’ reaction and Jazz had never been so tempted to put his schooling to practical use before in his entire _life_. Jazz wanted to go find his _charming_ schoolmates and _shred_ them into itty-bitty pieces, but Prowl was still talking and would probably take Jazz leaving in the worst possible way. Prowl was still not looking at Jazz, addressing the floor instead. “Until I can understand and control my emotions the medical program keeps them muted to manageable levels.”  
  
“Then I’m really not…” Jazz felt horrible, asking this question, but he had to know and Prowl was not even _looking_ at him. “I’m really not yer friend?”  
  
“I…” At last a sign that Prowl had not completely shut down his emotions, as Prowl’s optics dimmed and his back panels shifted slightly in unease. Prowl’s voice when he spoke next was so very, very quiet that Jazz would never have heard it without his special audio sensors. “I had assumed that we fulfilled all the criteria for friendship. However, I understand why you would decide otherwise. It is logical to consider the effects of a known association with a… with a glitched mech upon one’s own reputation.”  
  
“No!” Jazz shouted, lunged, grabbing Prowl and forcing the startled mech to _look_ at him, looking so _surprised_ by Jazz’ reaction that he felt sick. How many times must Prowl have gone through this? It was no wonder the mech had kept the program, never even tried to function without it, anything had to be better than being rejected over and over for something you had no control over. At least with the program running Prowl could control himself. All this flashed through Jazz’ processor as he finally started thinking again, putting the clues and signs he had overlooked together with Prowl’s terse explanation and extrapolating from there. Jazz could feel the faint flickers of confusion and apprehension and resignation in the Praxian’s muted field. Forcing himself to calm down, Jazz gentled his hold and tugged on Prowl’s hand, speaking in a far less panicked tone. “No. It’s not like that at all, Prowler. You never stopped hangin’ out with me when ya found out ‘bout me. If ya stuck with me even after findin’ out that I was an accident that got foisted off on the care centers, you gotta feel somethin’. Mech from a good family like ya hangin’ out with a street scraplet like me? It don’t happen much. Ain’t _logical_ at all. I don’t care that ya gotta glitch, Prowler. I ain’t leavin’ ya alone over somthin’ stupid as that. I just wanna know why ya never told me ‘bout it.”  
  
“… I assumed that you were previously informed. My glitch is common knowledge here, as you are now aware.” Prowl’s backpanels twitched as the Praxian shrugged. “It did not occur to me to inform you of my glitch. It was preferable to leave things be rather than risk destabilizing our relationship.”  
  
“Aw, Prowler.” Jazz murmured in sympathy, reading between the lines and hearing what Prowl was unable to say – _I was scared I would lose you_ – and Jazz slid his arms around Prowl’s waist, leaning forward to rest his helm against Prowl’s. “Don’t worry. Ya can tell me anythin’, an’ I swear on m’spark that I’ll never let whatcha tell me break our friendship. S’long as yer honest with me, I’ll always be yer friend.”  
  
“Thank you, Jazz.” Prowl slowly relaxed, cautious, hesitant, but willing to try as he ever so slightly leaned into Jazz’ embrace. Jazz treasured the feeling of his friend’s trust, revelling in the moment as a happy warmth bloomed in his spark.  
  
=/=

 **(In which Jazz meets Interceptor.)**  
  
“You are the Special Operations student designation Jazz, correct?” The calm, proper voice had Jazz whirling around in surprise, not having heard the other mech approach. It made him justifiably wary, as he had the most sensitive audios in his class intake (and possibly the entire Academy), which made it a notable thing indeed to take Jazz by surprise. Only Prowl had ever managed to get the drop on Jazz before and having this stranger catch him unawares had Jazz feeling unaccountably nervous.  
  
“Er, yessir. M’name’s Jazz.” Examining the stranger gave Jazz another shock, his optics drawn irresistibly to the proudly held doorwings and a hauntingly familiar visage. The black Praxian just looked amused as Jazz reeled back.  
  
“I am Interceptor. Prowl’s Genitor.” The Praxian accent was thicker than Jazz was used to, more obvious in Interceptor’s voice than Prowl’s, even though the cadence and manner of speech were nearly identical. Then the meaning of the words penetrated and Jazz stalled. The tall Praxian smiled, tilting his head just like Prowl did when confronted with a new puzzle. Interceptor’s optics raked over Jazz, examining the Academy student critically before nodding. “My creation has told me much about you. I would like to offer you my sponsorship, and invite you to reside in my home during Academy breaks.”  
  
“You, uh, really?” Jazz scrambled to recover his ability to articulate his thoughts. “Er, why me? Not that I ain’t grateful just… why?”  
  
“I am certain that you are aware of the difficulties my creation faces due to his medical circumstances.” Interceptor paused, staring at Jazz expectantly.  
  
“You mean his glitch?” Jazz nodded slowly. “Yeah. It don’t affect his work none, but people still lookit him crossways ‘cause of it.”  
  
“Precisely.” Interceptor looked pleased. “However you have shown yourself to be unhindered by prejudices that could mean underestimating the wrong opponent. In addition to an open mind, you have ambition, and the raw talent that will translate in time to the skill to back it up. Quite simply, you will make a useful ally for my creation, both now and in the future. Your scores certainly show you to be well matched in all things.”  
  
“Yer talkin’ about settin’ us up as a Binary!” Jazz blurted in surprise, making Interceptor snort gently in amusement. The Academy student was stunned. Binary teams were permanently matched mechs with complementary skill sets. They were usually the best of the best and came highly in demand, simply because pairs compatible enough to make a Binary team were few and far between.  
  
“I believe that you and Prowl have the ability to become so, yes.” Interceptor inclined his head, watching Jazz struggle to reign in his flustered surprise. “Don’t you agree?”  
  
“Of course! This means I’d get to spend more time with Prowler, right?” Jazz shook himself and grinned at the Praxian who had just grabbed his future and twisted it into a pretty origami figure. “In that case, sign me up!”  
  
“Excellent.” Interceptor nodded briefly to Jazz and turned to leave. “The documents should arrive for your perusal within the megacycle. I shall inform your instructors of the situation. I look forward to speaking with you further, Jazz.”  
  
“Yeah, me too.” Jazz blinked his optics a few times as his processors caught up to what had just happened. Then Jazz bolted for where he knew Prowl would be. A certain Tactics student had some _explaining_ to do.  
  
Prowl looked up curiously as Jazz flung himself around the corner into the study nook, riveted his gaze on Prowl, and then flung himself at his friend with a war cry.  
  
“Prowl!” To Prowl’s dismay and Jazz’s could-not-care- _less_ -right-now, datapads went flying as Jazz scrambled over the table rather than going around it. Black hands latched onto Prowl’s shoulders as Jazz slid to a stop half on the table and half in Prowl’s lap. Jazz ignored his awkward placement to shake his best friend in slight hysteria. “Prowl, mech, your Genitor was just here and offered to set us up as a Binary team!”  
  
“I know.” Prowl blinked his optics as Jazz made a distinctly odd sound, making Prowl look cautiously at his friend as he explained further. “Genitor was here with me earlier, and we discussed the idea. I had no objections, but felt that you might appreciate the offer coming from someone you had no obligations to.”  
  
Jazz paused. “Y’wanted me t’be able t’say no, didn’t ya?”  
  
“Yes.” Prowl shrugged as best he was able with Jazz still clinging to his front. “Your friendship means much to me, but I would not presume to use your attachment to me to manipulate you into making a decision you may later come to regret.”  
  
“Silly mech.” Jazz shook his head. “I won’t regret anythin’. This was your idea in the first place, wasn’t it?”  
  
“Yes. You expressed distaste for the care centre, and frequently lamented our upcoming separation. I have since taken steps to secure you an alternate option.” Prowl said guilelessly, tilting his head back to look up at Jazz. “Should I contact my Genitor and rescind the request?”  
  
“You sneaky slagger.” Jazz huffed in amusement, leaning harder against Prowl in a quick hug before he backed off with a smile. “Thanks. I really wasn’t lookin’ forward t’goin’ back there even if it was only fer the break.”  
  
“It was my pleasure, Jazz.” Prowl said softly with a small smile. “It is the least I can do for a friend.”  
  
=/=

 **(In which Prowl ponders about Jazz.)**  
  
Prowl completed the last simulation problem and set the stack of datapads aside. Hands folded neatly, Prowl stared straight ahead at the front of the classroom as he waited for the instructor to dismiss them. It would be a while, Prowl was well aware that he had finished the examination well ahead of the rest of his classmates. Their angry, jealous glares and sidelong looks were easily dismissed from Prowl’s mind. They could do nothing but sit and stew under the sharp gaze of the instructor. Any action they took would be seen as cheating, and so Prowl was safe from retaliation for showing them up for now. With nothing else left to distract him, Prowl found his thoughts turning – as they so often did these days – to the walking, talking enigma that was Jazz.  
  
On the surface the Special Operations student seemed to be yet another casually friendly mech of the stripe appreciated by the Academy recruiters. Charm and charisma were necessary to a mech who wished to get away with murder. Upon closer interaction however, Jazz was chaos incarnate. At once vicious and kind, devious and loyal – Jazz embodied myriad contradictory acts and attitudes that somehow managed to inhabit a single frame and processor. Prowl found that trying to predict Jazz was an effort in futility, one that often threatened to overheat his processors. It had taken a great deal of careful manoeuvring to keep Jazz from finding out about Prowl’s narrowly avoided crashes. The lengths he had gone to in order to keep Jazz from learning about the not-infrequent times he had locked up had been almost ridiculous. Yet Prowl had no doubts that Jazz would have distanced himself from the young tactician in a misguided attempt to spare Prowl the indignity and difficulty if ever Jazz had known how his outside-the-box thinking affected his friend.  
  
Such thoughts were the cause of much trepidation for Prowl. It had been an accident, but Prowl had discovered that the more he discarded the suppression program, the easier it became to find a logical catalyst for Jazz’s actions. Plus, the more Prowl was exposed to Jazz and his unique insight, the simpler it was for Prowl to deduce the logical cause and motivations of others. Prowl’s progress was slow, glacial. There was no possible way for Prowl to do away with the entire program overnight, no matter how helpful Jazz was.  
  
But.  
  
But Jazz made the effort seem worth it. As each line of code that held his emotions back was stripped away, Prowl became more aware of what he was missing. For all Jazz made his life needlessly complicated, it was also far simpler now. Adapting to strange and unfamiliar circumstances was made easier with practice. A simple program that explained the ridiculous and illogical by attributing it to Jazz’s influence meant fewer crashes. In this, Prowl had only to follow, Jazz would lead the way.  
  
Prowl had long since seen the benefits and wisdom in cultivating a stable relationship with Jazz. Seeing how Jazz sobered at the mention of the upcoming break, noting with some pride that he could now discern between true joy and forced cheer, Prowl had asked his Genitor to allow Jazz to reside with them for the duration.  
  
Prowl had been pleased when his best-case scenario worked out perfectly, but then, Interceptor had a habit of indulging his creation. Prowl suspected that his Genitor’s compliance to his requests had more to do with the fact that Prowl rarely asked for anything then aught else, and Interceptor did enjoy spoiling Prowl at every available opportunity. Perhaps hoping to see some sign that Prowl was dismantling the suppression program. Prowl had not failed to see his Genitor’s surprise and excitement when Prowl had smiled while speaking about Jazz.  
  
Shaking his head, Prowl looked up as the instructor came by and took his work pads. Now dismissed from his final examination, Prowl left the classroom to head for his dorm. The sooner he was packed, the sooner he – and Jazz – could go.  
  
And maybe once they were home, Prowl would be able to figure out why merely thinking about Jazz was enough to leave him with the sensation of gentle warmth in his spark.  
  
=/=

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is mostly Autobot centric but they have a place in the story too and bb!Prowl is too much fun to torment I couldn't help myself. XP
> 
> At least he has a Jazz to keep him company! ^_^

**Author's Note:**

> So if you are one of the many _fantastic and greatly loved_ people who wrote spin-off fics based on this 'verse, please feel free to upload those stories. You can either click the little _'This work was... inspired by another work'_ radio button on the upload page, or mark it as a gift, or add me as a co-author, or all of the above.
> 
> If you _don't_ have an Ao3 account but would still like your story reconnected to the main 'verse, drop me a line and we'll figure something out. ♥

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [In Which There are Good Intentions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11704020) by [Sanjuno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanjuno/pseuds/Sanjuno), [Zatnik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zatnik/pseuds/Zatnik)




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